Canidia, or, The witches a rhapsody, in five parts / by R.D.

THE WITCH TO THE READER.

CANTO I.

DO, Laugh, Democritus; Heraclitus, Cry, 'Tis a fine sight, to grin, and put finger in Eye. No Fools like the old Fools, for shame cease, Mad Shavers will do what they please. We read, that Birds, Beasts, and Trees of old, Spake, when Men durst not be so bold. Of Villany, and Tyranny the highest Strain, Is, to suffer none of Wrongs to complain.

So to sin without Controll, Endures neither Check nor Droll▪ This crosses the very Justice of Hell, Where none are punisht that do well. But where no Pen, nor Tongue, nor Hand Must move, there's no Counsel nor Command,

There Good and Bad are at a stand, That's worse than Dis, or Fairy Land.

Where there's neither Satyr nor Droll. Murd'rers and Judges walk Cheek by Joll, For such States, let the Bell Toll. They that deserve an Objurgation, Sue Plaintiff in Action of Defamation, This Liberty undoes a Nation. Stifle all History and Record, From the Peasant to the Lord, Censure no mans Deed or Word.

A fine World! when to do any thing every man may be bold, And no Man of his Offence must be told. If this be allowed Indemnity, Why should not we Witches be free? Can it be counted Sense or Reason, To hang them up, that find fault with Felony or Treason? Shall the Law let go gross Offenders, And fall upon the honest Reprehenders? Plague the Thrifty, and encourage the Spenders? Then farewel the Trade of State-Menders.

Do your worst Officers, says Tacebo, Hangman lacks work, says Non Placebo. It puts Wise men upon the Frets, To find Laws turn'd into Nets. The greatest Plague took up by the Factions, Is to plunge the Modest into chargeable Actions. The Janus Lawyers gather vast Fruits, By strangling the Quiet in Endless Suits.

Put up your Injuries into your Sleeves, What the Eye ne're sees, the Heart ne're grieves. All the World hath cause to complain, Of the Delays of proud Spain. Me veny la morte di Spagna, at long running, For then to be sure 'twill be slow a coming. That way is desperately suspected, That deserves, but refuses to be Corrected.

What ever's that Law, I can't understand, That banishes Informers out of a Land, And suffers Licentiousness to Command. There's plenty of Traytors, Rogues and Whores, Where they admit of no Corrigidores. That Land swarms with Bandities and Tories, That breeds no Alcades or Commandatories. Letters of Mart or Represalia, Armies of Thieves stand in Battalia, To fill up the Fields of Pharsalia.

It was thought of old, that none but Kings Were exempted from Satyrs Stings. But now every one that lies under a Hedge, Shall plead Immunity and Priviledge, And steal, if he can, the Golden Wedge. This sets all my Teeth on edge, If I Rob, no body need to be my Pledge.

For now the proudest Knaves that e're Pist, Presume to do what they list. And, if nere so much mischief, all is Whist, And they're already at it Hand to Fist. Rock all the Laws, say I, asleep, Or hurl their Books into the Deep.

And out all Frogs and Toads will creep, But not an honest Man dares peep.

If a True-hearted Body find fault, Tumble him into the Inquisition Vault, Of Hell, that is a perfect Draught. A true Informer, there let him dye, The Commonwealth won't endure a Spye. In Wickedness we're ne're like to thrive, So long as there's a Satyr alive. Nemo me lacessit impune, is the Motto of the Thistle, The Publick Good for this Priviledge, may go Whistle.

Kings indeed are safe, under the Rose, But Subjects are in their own Clothes. They may, without a Fiction, Sin, free from Contradiction. If my rich Neighbour come to cut my Throat, As Pompey's was in the Egyptian Boat. I must stand still, and not find fault, Or else he'l leave me not worth a Groat.

Do not Parliaments to Kings complain, Of Grievances, and shall Subjects disdain. To be complain'd of, or punisht by Kings, Or, if need be, by Inferior Things? If there be allow'd no Reprehension, Of Rebels there will be a general Comprehension, And that must be a damnable Invention. In all Commonwealths, at these Rates, No Censors of Manners, or Estates, No more need of Magistrates.

Let us dance at Barly-Breaks, And refer all to the Fates. Tho we break one anothers Pates, And you may shut up Hell Gates. Yet every Gossip with her Mate, Shall never leave to lye and prate, Of them that are of highest state. Say, or do the Law what it will, A Womans Tongue will never lye still.

Canting Saints call Satyrs Libels, Where find they that in all their Bibels. May Sins be rebuked, or may they not? This Answer may suffice a Sot, That passes his Verdict over a Pot. (A Fools Bolt is soon shot,) But never understands What's what.

If Good may be cry'd up, evil may be cry'd down, With Honesty all over the Town. To teach to do Good, and eschew Evil, Comes not kindly from a Witch, or a Devil. When Vice is cry'd out against, none are abus'd, But only when Honest men are falsly accus'd. That's Scandal and Libelling, therefore, To call a Spade a Spade ne're go behind the Door.

Lawyers and Sects, leave your Canting, For all this Satyr is but a Witches Ranting. Philosophers and Poets play all the like Game, I wish all Ranters were sober and tame, So, I might get my self a Name. And this is all, I poor Witch intend, That every Rascal would amend, And so they, then me, might come to a better End.

A grave, wise Debauchee, that soonest takes Pet, May be soonest caught in a Fools Net. A Capricious Ass, in my Apprehension, May be rid of his Folly, by a Fools Reprehension. A great Opiniator may come to my School, And soonest be cured by Ridicule, That Purge settles him upon the Close Stool. In these damnably daring, angry Times, Fops are fetcht over by ridiculous Rhimes.

Of Vice there are divers ways of Perstringing, Some by Stroaking, some by Swinging. Some by Mildness, some by Fury, 'Specially when it comes to an Ignoramus Jury. Some in grave, solid, sober Sadness, Some in a holy Rage and Madness. Some in learned, solemn Tables, Some in lighter strains and Fables. Some from an Enemy, some from a Friend, All tending to the self same End.

'Tis a strange Spirit, that winks at all Evil, And suffers men quietly to go to the Devil. They can't help it, they say, and they're loath to speak, They wish'twere better, and their hearts do break, But the Vessel drowns, and they won't stop the Leak. Is this enough for Honest men to say, To see Murder committed, and sneak away? They'le not flownce into danger thick and thin, 'Tis best to keep in a whole Skin.

Is this Right, to maintain Mine and Thine, To go contrary to Justice, Humane or Divine?

Don't I see this plainly? Yes, I do, as bad as you make me, And hate it too, or else the Devil take me. Malignant Humors won't endure to be stirr'd, A dull Jade kicks when he's Spurr'd. Old Soars refuse to be Launcht, 'Tis pain for twisted Guts to be Pauncht.

I censure my own, and all other mens Sins, And lay, as for Vermine, strong Traps and Gins, (That's more than pricking with Needles and Pins.) All in good earnest, though by a kind of Rhiming, Party-per-Pale, betwixt Ringing and Chiming, Variety of Changes not exactly Timing. Sometimes downright, sometimes contrary, According as my poor Wits chance to vary, 'Tis better than to scum Cream, or Churn in my Dairy.

Tho, when I speak like my self, 'tis not altogether so clean, A Poet must do so, and all but Fools may know what I mean. I lash hardest when I make the least noise, And am most serious, when I play the most Toys. 'Tis true in Me, Video Meliora, 'Tis as true sequor Deteriora. In this, you must know, I demonstrate my self, As I am, and must be a damned Elf.

The dull Readers understand me not Right, As Scholars do at the first sight. 'Tis certain, in most things I am very Tight, And, it may be, I have hit the White.

But 'tis for your good, that I take all the Pains, That tho I lose, you may get all the Gains. I find Learned men are not so free, To rebuke Sin, as you perceive me to be, If they do well in this, Judge ye.

They are shy and fearful, that's plain, Of losing their Friends, Honour and Gain. This is no true Honesty I'le maintain, I, tho a Witch, am of a Nobler strain. This is enough to convince Connivance, And this is the Reason of my Contrivance. For a Maiden Fancy this may fly, But the Devil a Maid am I. The World is grown to the height of all Evil, When none dare to tax Sin, but a Witch or a Devil.

'Tis very inexcusable therefore, you see, Hypocrisie in the highest Degree. Sure all sorts of Vices in heaps lye Ram'd, When both Wise and Fools are not afraid to be Damn'd. 'Tis an excellent Witches Observation, Incorrigibility destroys a Nation. The Prophane kind in their shame run on, While the Better sort stand and look on.

What call you this, but perfect Collusion? In some Body, and whither tends it, but to Confu∣sion? That which they hate, they that sit in the Chair, To suppress, take no Care. How then is it likely the World should well fare? This great Fault, in my way, I don't spare.

It may be I have suffered long, For doing Right, before I did Wrong. Therefore to Chide the rude Throng, I make this the burden of my Song. I wish the World were better grown, And I wish my self better, but the Fault's my own. Therefore 'tis others I bemoan, That for themselves never fetcht the least Groan.

If you will understand me, I make Protestation, My plain meaning in this Execration, Is, of all that's base, a full Detestation. To Purge out every Spring and Fall, A Lawless Distemper that's Epidemical. As for Law, my Genius ever led me that way, But I could never endure to be hang'd by 't, I say, When greater Rogues scape, I count it foul Play.

As for Philosophick Fools, I ever found fault with their two edged Tools, But I am not an Enemy to Schools. Gray Gravity it self can well beteam, That Language be adapted to the Theme. He that to Parrots speaks, must Parrotize, He that i••structs Fools, may act the Unwise. When States dishevel, and Laws untwist, Wise men hold their Tongues, Fools speak what they list.

Si Natura negat, facit Indignatio Versum, Qualemcunque potest, 'Tis no Sin to rehearse 'um▪ O these horrid Rebel Dogs. That Kennel with Toads and Frogs; In stinking Dykes, and Fenny Bogs, Will stir to Honesty no more than Logs.

He that lets fly among that Tribe, Is rail'd and ball'd at o're the World so wide, And every Varlet on his back shall ride.

They may do all that's bloody and base, And no body dares tell it to their Face. They shall smite Honest men, hip and thigh, Strangers, Friends, Neighbours and Standers by, But no body must offer to say, Black's their Eye. All sorts of deadly railing Notes, And Curses belch from their poys'nous Throats.

Plund'ring, Hanging, all sorts of Undoing, Are Virtues, while the Good Cause is a going. By Yea and Nay, in a word, They can do all things by the Sword. But if the just Law pinch 'um, they cry and roar at such Rates, As if no less than Hannibal were at the Gates, The Wicked undo the godly Mates.

The only way to cure this Distemper, Is for Justice to watch and catch them Semper. Or else they are such cross, implacable things, And carry such deadly Venom in their Stings, That they will ruine Priests, Nobles and Kings. No wonder then, if poor Poets they kill, That of great Princes have had their Will. Devils in Dark act against Right, And appear Angels in Light, All things are carried by Favour, Malice, and Might.

He that rebukes Sin knows to what he must trust, That is, to be Persecuted and Curst; For my part I'm bad enough, let 'um do their worst.

I confess, for this Office, Innocents may Rue, But the Comfort is, they are Honest and True. But they that hate 'um and hurt 'um, are damnably Base, And so I shall boldly tell 'um to their Face.

He that sooths, cringes, and collogues, Gets all the Honour, and all the Vogues. I confess, they may object against my Life, But against my Doctrine, they can have no Strife. Ovid's Muse was a Chast Madona, Lasciva est Pagina vita Bona. This is all they can say, 'tis a Witch that does scold, But 'tis against all sorts of Knaves, young and old, And, perhaps, none but a Witch durst be so bold. Others, 'tis plain, are between hot and cold, And are afraid of losing their Gold.

You may be corrupt, and you may be pure, Let them alone, and they'l let you alone be sure. So you may both quietly march into Hell, By that means all will be well. Still, 'tis the same thing, to rebuke Evil, Be it done, by Saint, Witch or Devil.

If you be good, I have nothing to say, But praise you for taking the Right way: But if you choose the Cause that is Evil, I'm ready to post you headlong to the Devil. Never stand, Shall I, shall I, railing or bawling, Let every one follow his honest Calling. 'Tis my duty, tho a wicked Preacher, To strike at every false Over-reacher.

Tho I fail, yet be you Just and True, To be sure I shall have my due. Is't any hurt for me, that am Bad, to wish you bet∣ter? I may be a Knave and a good Bone-Setter. You may Rail at me, as you have begun, But what has the honest Poet done. Does he speak his own Words, or Mine? Why do ye abuse him then for every Line?

Tax him for his life, if you can or dare, The best of you with him compare But because you can't, at his Fame you dart, The Devil, one day, will split you for't. The Devil, one day, will give you a Fair Ring, And hang you up at the Cross called Charing. A Company of leud Hectors, that ne're did good, But always delighted in innocent Blood. To abuse and undo every Honest man, Endure it, that endure it can.

This moves me to take their part, That are fairly wrong'd and griev'd at Heart. For others Sins, and their own Harms, This forces me to make use of my Charms: And to plague those that do them Wrong, This is the burden of my Song.

What a Nest is there of Rogues and Whores, That turn all Honest men out of Doors? When none take their part, In come We, To revenge all their Injury. We'l hurt no Innocents, of honest Profession, But aim at the Men of all sorts of Transgression.

I've done so much harm to good Men in my days, I'm resolv'd now to secure them and their Praise.

I do confess my self to blame, For being a Witch, I deserve the Name: But for those that use Paints, Act Rogues, and profess Saints, And of Hypocrisie will endure no Complaints. I tell you, I cannot abhor them enough, That are more than Law or Conscience Proof, In Hell, there can be no worse Stuff.

I confess, I'm by force to Witchcraft confin'd, But they to all Villany are freely inclin'd. Goodness often comes in my mind, And to good Men I love to be kind. But they will neither be good in themselves, Nor suffer others to be good. What worser Elves? The Devils and We are already damn'd, And hook in others with them to be sham'd, For fear Hell should not be sufficiently cram'd.

In this, I'm sure, I do well, To save as many as I can from coming to Hell. Especially to avoid this Gainsaying, That Men should go to the Devil by Praying, The same with, In Frost and Snow to go a May∣ing. I very well find the danger I am in, That can't repent me of my Sin. This makes me the more earnest to study to save, If I could, every Incorrigible Slave.

I can baseness more to the life express, Than they that use it nevertheless.

Because, I know, I give my Mind, To fetch up those that lag behind. Of all Vice I have ta'ne the true scent, More than those that never Repent; To turn them into the Right way, Which they wilfully pass by every day.

We are better natured than Fiends, 'Cause to Mankind we are better Friends. I may have as Wise, and as Honest Desires, And kindle as Zealous Fires As those that hang out a Fairer Sign, But never sell good Beer, or Wine. I could find in my heart, to break the Devils Score, And hurt Honest Men, no more.

Every Single, Simple Imp, Shews himself, so much in the Crimp, As to Act Monk, and Play the Pimp. Ʋnus Invenit, Alius Pinxit, Ʋnus Cacavit, Alius Minxit. You'l say, I use Ribaldry, Roaring, and Ranting, Poetick, Philosophick Canting; But to Blaspheme or be Profane, I tell you I abhor that Strain.

Tho I be out Nettle, and in Dock, You shall ne're find me at that Lock, I'le be sure to leap over that Block. I may, and do, act several Parts, And Counterfeit in several Arts. But I have no Ill meaning to Beguile, Stab under the fifth Rib with a Smile, But to find out, and describe a Knave all the while.

The Honest man, I take his part, Because I love him at my Heart, Because I know he will never start. The greatest Villains, Low and High, Can't but admire, love and fear Honesty. Yet they're so base to do all the harm they can, To the True, Honest, Harmless man.

Now this is the way that loaths me so much, For which I bear them all this Grutch: And when I can handsomly upon 'um light, I long to do 'um all despight, And it shall be cunningly out of sight. None can deal so well, nor be so Tight, As We, to be reveng'd of Malice and Might.

When Clocks want Keepers, and Dyals want Light, All goes by guess, whither Wrong or Right. Seldom blind Archers hit the White, The Informer and Hangman have took their flight. A Wise man may wear a Fools Coat, An Honest man may be left not worth a Groat. He that speaks Truth shall lie in his Throat. If as Chast as Diana you're call'd a leud Goat, If Wise as Pallas, they'l say you Doat. A grave Musician may play a light Note, If you be a Lamb, they'l cut your Throat.

If this be all the fault you can find, 'Tis to rebuke Sin, you know my mind, Every thing must be serv'd in its kind. You're a degree from the Devil remov'd, If you once hate to be reprov'd. 'Tis a sign you will never be good, That vomit and belch out Dirt and Mud.

The crazy World will crack in all its middle Joynts, When both ends want their Parapoints. Say what you will, In totâ Naturâ rerum, Nil Justè prohibet dicere Verum.

When all is done, except Truth may command, I know not how the World can stand. Then Reader, I'le allow you a Bushel of Malt, If you'l but afford me one grain of Salt. In short, I say to every Ignoramus Reader, From the Plow-Jogger to the Bar-Pleader. Let them follow my Rules, but not me for their Leader.

Busie Momus Fumes and Swears, Rhimes fall together by the Ears, We shall ne're want Jealousies and Fears. I say, when the true Sense will bear it, Verse runs on all Fours, never fear it. But when the Cabal to carry double is cross, Then the Jade must be forc't to Joss, Rather than the Sense be at a loss.

The Dancing Poetaster takes pleasure, To traverse the Stage in exact measure: But they that Buskin it in a Dram, Reckon strict Numbers but a Sham. Apothegms, Proverbs croud in now and then, Sophists and Legists bring in their Men. To do good Service other while, Upon occasion, out of Rank and File. So they use to Advance and Sally, March close, after a Rout, Rally, In heat of Fight, not stand shall I, shall I.

No strict Commission for Orders to wait, The Fish is gone while you change the Bait. In Mood and Figure, Declension and Tense, Logicians and Criticks commence, Prerogative makes just Defence. Rhimers are more than common Greges, Poetae sunt Syllabarum REGES.

My unconfined Muse disdains, Like a Slave, to be led in Fetters and Chains. Her Verse suppos'd to run the sweeter, When not clog'd with all Four-footed Meeter. But some are well pleas'd neither full nor fasting, Always over, or under-casting, Whose Judgments are never long lasting.

Some Wits are never known to thrive, Never pleas'd, dead nor alive. In their Coffins they lye sullen, Because they lye scrubbing in Woollen. Some in their Graves, Riggle and Jiggle, 'Cause Boys and Girls o're them Laugh and Gig∣gle. Others dogged, Mutter and Grumble, 'Cause on their Turfs Children Play and Tumble.

But false Envies, endless Abuses, Can't supersede my Just Excuses. Sometimes I may tread a false Step, Over a Slough I may give a Leap. I do not Botch or Patch a Rhime, Hook in a Phrase to keep Time.

Dramaticks in their Tragick Pride, Scorn to Numbers to be ty'd.

In my Verse here and there a Notch, Rather than stitch it up with a Botch. A Poem ought to run as smooth in Reading, As a Lawyers Bill in Pleading, A Poet must not always be kneading.

Some handsom Molds are soonest cast, By a kind of careless Hast. Sometimes the more Care, the more Wast, Festina lentè, all so fast. The greatest Stirrings cause most Bubbles, Sudden Inventions raise least Troubles.

I read in curious Verse and Prose, (Be it spoke under the Rose.) Very small Learning, but great Fame, Meerly for the Author's Name. O you Dunce, down with your Hose, You deserve a whipt Britch, and a bloody Nose.

Dare you abuse in bald Rhimes, The glorious Wits of the Times? I understand better things, ye Slaves, I fall on none but Fools and Knaves. I tell you, I am something Nice, Choose Authors, not Florid, but Wise.

A sleekt Oration, a starcht Story, Of Tom Trincalo, or John Dory; Begets Attention at an Act, No Right, all matter of Fact. Scholars that in Arts commence, Courted by Harlot Eloquence,

Great Wits for want of Wit flatter, Fucus of Words without Matter, I'de as lieve hear a Magpy Chatter.

One thing more makes Momus Frown, He says, I cry the Clergy down. He is a Rogue for saying so, To their Scandals I am a Foe. Their Strife, Riot, Blood and Pride, Rebellion, Covetousness I can't abide. That would be Infallibly Supreme, This is the meaning of my Theme. In Councils hardly can agree, Act most by Rigor and Aspertee; Truly, these are no Clerks for me.

Presbyter Jack prays and preaches Harty, Rebels, and calls Self the Godly Party. The Old Clergy for Ignorance and Pride, Nobles and Gentry are laid aside.

The gallant Independent wins the Crown, Prays, Preaches, fights the Presbyter down. Then comes the Ship-shop-man and Petty-Fogger, The Praying, Holding-forth Plow-Jogger. Mov'd by Enthusiastick Call, Out Prays, out Preaches, out Fights 'um all.

Such Cattel are Ferae Naturae, Disturb 'um and they'l ne're endure ye. I loath such Clerks as are never good, Preach up Rebellion and Blood. A Mongrel Clergy that basely Flatter, Do any thing for a Two-peny Matter, These are the Men I bespatter.

Hedge Priests, that dare strike the Marriage stroak, 'Twixt Brother and Sister under an Oak. In Parlors, Barns, Stables, pray and prate, Undermining Church and State, These are the Vermin I so much Hate. Creepers into Courts and Shops, Greazing their Fists, Cramming their Chops. In any thing, be't ne're so Ill, They are ready to do your Will.

But O, the Learned, Pious Tribe, Scorn to Flatter or take Bribe. These were ever in my Books, The rest, from me, have had wry Looks. A Clergy Elf I e're did hate, May the True Priests live in state.

Those that are of Princely Spirits, That act Gentily; Their rare Merits Deserve to Teach, deserve to Rule, The rest I count but Ridicule. The Learned Clergy I adore, Honour and Wealth become them more, Than other Men, on the same score.

Sure, Long suffering by Foul Play, Hath drove me to this Angry Way, And now I'm in, I can hardly stay. Primitive Saints did Preach and Pray, In homely Cells, out of Harms way. 'Till the Age of Constantine, The Clergy were Learned and Divine▪ They never broke this Heart of mine:

Who thought 'twould e're be the Priests Doom, To Lord it in Imperial Rome? The Emperor was High Priest, but since, The Priest is Emperor and Prince. Senatus, Populus Romanus, Sunt Clerus hodiè Insanus.

Did ever Clerks till then aspire, 'Bove Crowned Heads to advance higher? How came it into their Bald Pates, From rich Death Beds to screw Estates? How came they first to cheat Wise Nations, With Purgatories and Transubstantiations?

D'ye think the Church can ever stand, When such wild Freaks the World command? Brave Princes gull'd by Nasty Fryars, Whose Brats sit at other Mens Fires. That choose to lead such lazy Lives, With Concubines, not lawful Wives. Their Frantick Orders and Institutions, Are Nurseries of all Confusions.

Trust them with Power and Wealth, when warm, You'l find they'l stick not to do all harm. Lawyers have much improv'd their Parts, But Clergy have outstript all Arts. Others are Ideots, if you mind 'um, The Virtuoso shall come behind 'um. What Matchiavels have they not cheated? What Policies have they not defeated?

To tell Truth, I have been plaguily vext, They first turn'd me beside my Text.

I compounded then to please my Mind, After I took all Learning in kind. But that I might not be at Loss, I divided the Pure from the Dross, Yet still came home by Weeping Cross. As all must, that with them ha' to do, To no purpose to throw an Old Shoe.

Yet those that did me vex and teaze, Occasioned my Souls Ease. I resolv'd upon Virtues Praise, And to condemn Vice always. So they that weakned me all along, Against their Wills have made me strong, By discerning 'twixt Right and Wrong.

And now I soar above their Heads, In Triumph; they in shame go to their Beds. Better to Give, than to Receive, Better be Cheated, than to Deceive. Put to the Fret by Friar Dominick, No wonder I prov'd a little Cynick. Taken and kept upon Suspicion, Doz'd me in the Spanish Inquisition.

The High Commission and the Doom, Darted from the Starry Room, Had like to a plung'd me to my Tomb. These were design'd for Knaves; but now and then, Abuses fell upon Honest men.

He that abounds in Sense Divine, Shall never stick at Thine or Mine. He that sits on the Triple Shelf, Shall be an Oracle to himself.

Learning and Laws must from him spring, A Priest, a Prophet, Lord and King: And all must shrowd under his Wing, But let 'um watch his deadly Sting.

Power and Wit must gladly buckle, Honour and Wealth under him truckle. The Private and the Publick State, Temporal and Eternal Fate, Must hang at such Mens Girdles; their bare Nods, Are more than Princes Frowns or Rods.

A Curse, or causeless Execration, Staggers and Thunderbolts a Nation. Towns, Cities, Kingdoms sore Afflicted. From Sacred Things Interdicted. 'Tis more than Exile, Mines, or Slaughter, Or Interdiction of Fire and Water.

Momus says, I take too much to be a Writer, That am no better than an old Sheep-Biter, Therefore, 'tis just for all Scholars to slight her. Sirrah, Cockscomb, Jackanapes, Fool, Take heed of medling with an Edg'd Tool, I'le set Thousands such as you to School. A Company of ugly Mongrel Currs, To bark at a Lady in her Silks and Furrs, And let a Lord scape in his Golden Spurrs.

Every Mothers Son of Hobgoblin or Fairy, A scorn to Sluts of the Kitchin or Dairy, I'le fetch you over with a Certiorari. I'le set an old Petty••fogger or Parson, To Indite you for Barretre or Arson, Too him, too him, O brave Garson.

I'le make him Skice under the Whores Bed, His Mother, and not dare to shew his Head, Teach him to offer a Hen of the Game to Tread.

Dogs, tho I be a Witch by Profession, Let me alone in my Honest Digression. Put up your dirty Libels and Packets, Or else I'le let fly at your Thred-bare Jackets. Now ye have put me into this angry Mood, I'm resolv'd to Rail, as long as Railing is good. And now y' have teiz'd me so and so, I'le drive the Nail as far as it will go.

Tho I be a Witch, 'tis true, yet 'tis my Resolution, To bring all the Rogues I can to Execution. I'le leave this Manifesto to all Ages hereafter, I love Vertue, tho I'm a Witch and a Witches Daughter, That was fairly hung upon Tyburn's Rafter.

The Clergy rarely hang together, Never endure Wind nor Weather. Often distracted by a Feather, Their Shoes made much of Running Leather. Linsy-Woolsy are their Jumps. More than ordinary Frumps. They hate to think of Ropes or Burning, Drape de Berry will hold Turning.

To Rule well they ne're could get the knack, Too oft they into Junto's pack: Till they come into their Huffs, And at last to Fisty Cuffs. Play kind good Fellows, go a Foxing, On a sudden all by the Ears a Boxing.

Close Bickerings, Thwick Thwack, All ends in a Cup of Sack. But all this while never the more Friends, Still every Party for his own Ends, The Rich Laity for all must make amends.

Besides all this, it is their Failing, They are strangely given to Railing, I wish all such to New England Sayling. Self opiniated and Proud, Into Sects and Factions crow'd, In Coventicles very loud. Like Seamen and Sheep, cry One and all, Right or Wrong to stand or fall.

Therefore Kings wisely, as the Case stands, Keep all the Power in their own Hands; For fear they should undo their Brothers, And be the Ruine of their Mothers. They cut them out their own Work too, And confirm all they do. This Policy Wise men find, For the benefit of Mankind.

This prevents many a Flaw, In Civil and Ecclesiastick Law. This prevents Rebellious Heats, And all sorts of Spiritual Cheats: For if the Pen had its Will, The Sword should more Blood spill. Speak, speak all good men, Is not this true, Excepting the Ignoramus Crew.

Of War, who were the Drums and Trumpets, But Romes and Geneva's Strumpets?

Hah, who lies in Ambuscado still, The Common-wealth would have its Will. Down went one Royal Oak, and now another Sprung from his Stock, is threatned, with his Bro∣ther.

What the same Scene in the open Sun, Acted before this Age be half done? So to be cheated of our Goods, Just so, once more to lose our Bloods? Who in the Dark make Combinations, For Plundrings and Assassinations. And gild all over with Evasions, But Sectaries of all Perswasions?

I see my self so far outdone, I see such damned Courses run, And such counterfeit Webs spun. To leave my Bungling Trade, I am resolv'd, In Witchcraft ne're to be involv'd. It must be high time to give o're, I yield, I'le be a Witch no more.

But still I own the Golden Line, Of Clergy Learned and Divine. To Princes fit Guides and Tutors, Ambassadors and Prolocutors. Companions to Potentates, The Strength and Glory of all States. Do ye think me blind or dull, Senseless, or of a Fanatick Skull, Fit to be baited by every Bull?

He that says, I hate the Coat, Lies deep in his Sepulchral Throat.

Try, make 'um Judges and Arbitrators, Specially, Heirs, Executors and Administrators. I'le warrant 'um they shall Translate, and Convey Vast Lordships the clean contrary way. Scriveners are but Pingling Rats, These are the greedy devouring Cats.

Flamens, Poets, Sophisticators, Augurs, Prognosticators. Counted Religious and Wise, All Arts to Monopolize. They might all be Priests and Kings, If they would mind Honest things, Now they prove the Devils Darlings. Suffer Selves to be bought and sold, Remain Dunces, young and old, And e're will at this rate, I dare be bold.

Here and there you may espy A brave Soul, neglected lye. He is too Learn'd, and too Shamefac'd, Too Honest, he must be disgrac'd. Down with him, under Hatches in the Hold, Feed him with Scraps till he be Old. 'Tis enough to make any honest Woman scold, To scratch and tear 'um I can be bold.

Tush, I'm an old doting Jade, that has no Brains, Think I to pretend to Juvenile Strains? I cannot now take pains. Sirrah Dog, I'le cut all that Rag, That dares to call me Doating Hag. Villain, Spirits ne're grow old, They keep their Everlasting hold.

And hadst thou Wit, thou wouldest know, The Older, the Wiser they grow.

To try then, what with your Genius Suits, I give you a Tast of my First-Fruits. In hopes of your Custom, I'le give you a Spell, Take a Cast of my Office for a Handsell.

CANTO II.

In fair Constantinople flew Justinian's Colours, Red and Blew. Both Marks of a Rebellious Crew, Never to their Master True. Italy spred her Fatal Signs, To Popes and Caesars, Guelphs and Gibellines, Both the Republicks Countermines. White and Black Standards display'd, The difference of Minds betray'd, Italy could ne're keep her self a Maid.

For besides the Goths and Vandals Rapes, From Natives she made hard Escapes. Witness the Ravishers Cancelieri, From whence sprang the Bianchi & Neri? None of these sine Instinctû Cleri, Florence, Pistoria with Sects Referti. Buon del monti, and Ʋberti, Albizi also, and Ricei, Donati, Corch••, Cavalleri.

Besides the Cursed Ammoniti, Outlaws, Tories and Banditi.

Clergy and Popular Elections, Fill'd all with Factions and Sections. Michael di Lando, Wool-comber, in a Jeer, (Like Massanello,) made Gaufalonier.

A handsom Medium to find, Go over Pont Asinine. Tell me, I pray, what rugged Storm, Tore the first Matter from the first Form. Tell me Seriò, non Joco, An ultima Sphaera sit in Loco. Resolve me, if you can, with a Wannion, How the Load-Stones force is quell'd by an Onion. Tell me 'twixt I and you alone, If Allom be a Juyce, or a Stone?

Watch and see, without Dispute, If a Thrush do Birdlime Mute. If a Coy-Duck, that Thief in Nature, Be not to the Common-wealth a Traitor.

In all your Born, did y'ever know, If Horns well planted will grow? Have Fishes Lungs, or do they breath, Or sleep, the Waters underneath? If Lampreys and Vipers breed, Which must be the prevailing Seed? Dic mihi, an Anima Mundi, Sicut Corpus, be in Formâ Rotundi?

Take all in Naturalibus puris, Ʋbietas convenit omnibus Creaturis. Conjunctorum est Solatium Sed Abstrahentium est Mendacium.

Of a Square or a round Man, Aristotle or Plato, who's the Profound Man? If a free, voluntary Choice, For Middle or both Ends gives his Voice. And if it be a Mixt Action, Is it not a perfect Faction?

Of Sympathy and Antipathy, the True Reason, Was never found yet in its Season. 'Twixt Something and Nothing there can be no Middle, Pigs playing on Organs sute well with a Fiddle, I lack Sphynx to unfold ev'ry Riddle. If Syrens and Tritons be Fishes Mute, Neptune and Thetis are so without Dispute, As for Aeolus, he's a rugged Brute. The true old Purple can never be found, The Philosopher's Stone is hid under-ground, False Phaenomena's abound.

Philosophers can't agree, By what Species we see. Fee Counsel, to tell which is most fitting, By Intra or Extra-mitting, But let the Parliament be sitting. Amicitia inter Binos & Bonos, Inter malos, nec Amor, nec Honos. An purè Nihil cadat sub Conceptu, An Absolutum sit sine omni Respectu.

Nothing dries sooner than Tears, Nothing betrays sooner than Fears. Swine upwards can't lift up their Eye, Cast them on their backs, they silent lye, Amaz'd to see the glory of the Skye.

Court old Madam Trickmedainte, Especially Madam Governante.

Charles the Fifth, so great a Man, And Parma's Prince, deny't that can. Neither of them, more wise or good, For dying in a Capuchin's Hood. Aristotle's Question does reflect, Why Health, as Sickness, don't infect. In Felony and Treasons Case, A Staff has the power of a Mace.

Areopagites, like wise Peers, Demurr'd Doubts for a Thousand years. When Greek Physicians shall learn Arts, Says Cato, they will kill all Hearts. Pythagoreans were lost in Slumbers, When they reck'ned Souls all Numbers, I believe they were all Fumblers.

The Musicians strein high, Call the Soul Harmony. Search all the Planets Houses, to know, Who rob'd a Thatch Cottage here below. Find who is Lord of the Ascendant, Let him be Superintendant.

Garcaeus of the Meteors hit it, If't had been a Hair h'had split it, No Body could better fit it. A noise i'th' Air precedes a Storm, Then good Angels strive to prevent Harm, Some for Cold weather, some for Warm.

When first Matter was in her Prime, No body so much as talkt of Time. When Occult Qualities had no Bottoms, Then men began to think of Atoms. Matter, Form, and Privation, Principles of the whole Creation. But Mercury, Sulphur and Sal, Have turn'd them out for good and all.

Why Learned men more copious are, Quintilian answers at the Bar. The Learned chuse the Best from needless Stuff, The Unlearned take all rough and enough. We read of Subterranean Sprights, That work in Minerals all Nights. But 'twas no better than Play, For nothing was found done next day.

To save Court Ladies, the Plot was laid, Nero to practice on Acte his Maid. He is a Scholar of a wise Reach, That learns and is able to Teach. Vulcan took Pett at the Athenian Schools, Told them they should be all Fools. But Pallas blest them with a Charm, That their Folly should do them no harm.

At Siege of Thebes in the Baeotian Fields, All Captains bore their painted Shields. Only Amphialus a white Flag bore, Of Valiant Acts that had the greatest Score. Caesar was not for his own Ends, Died rather than suspect his Friends. The Gods, because of higher Fames, Call all things by their proper Names.

Xanthus the Gods call Scamander, And so our poor Wits come to wander, We scarce know a Goose from a Gander.

A Fly the Poet commended more, Than a Nemean Lion, or a Calidonian Bore; What would he ha'done for Calirrohe his Whore? Caligula courted with a round Sum, Demetrius in scorn he turn'd his Bum. If he will tempt me to Aspire, No less will do't than his whole Empire. Ten Talents to give, might suffice a Commander, But Thirty's a Gift for Alexander.

Jove plac'd the Gods upon their Settles, According to their several Mettals. That is, as Lucian scoffs, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, When by right it should be 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Tully was pernicious to Rome, Demosthenes was Athens Doom. In the whole Imperial Line, The Best and Learnedst was Antonine. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, And that's a sign of no small one.

Ships split oft on Rocks of Dice, More dangerous than those of Ice, Pardon a Gamester if he venter twice. Lucian's Cobler proudly dreams, Of no less than Golden-streams. What if it were the Golden-stone, 'Twou'd make us all, that Thing alone. Whose Primitive Tradition reaches, As far as Adam's first green Breeches.

Ancients and Novelists bely us, Nil dictum, quod non dictum Prius. Who finds in Canonick Ruth, The nearer Antiquity, the nearer Truth?

'Mong all the Nocturnal Apparitions, I meet Enthusiastick Visions. Take some in their proper Seasons, They are but Misprisions of Treasons; But be sure look not for true Reasons. Offices first, soon swell into Merit, 'Tis love in the Flesh, that was love in the Spirit, So Vices come Vertues to inherit. Champerty, Mayhem, Prison Rumpers, Burglary, Infangthef, Withernam, Bumpers!

Of Villanies I have seen such store. That I'm resolv'd to see no more. Before I could discern them well, I was forc't to go down lower than Hell. There's King-killing and Ranging, O're Land and Sea, Laws and States changing. There may be some Interludes, Allaying Everlasting Feuds. But Ecclesiastick Wars never fail, None offers to cut off the Entail.

Heliogabalus would be the Sun, Married Ʋrania the Moon. Cornelius Agrippa, says the best Hero's, Were Bastards, Kings, and Cavalero's. Hercules kill'd the Lion Brood, That fell from the Moon in the Nemean Wood. Tantalus play'd an ugly Feat, Roasted his Sons for the Gods to eat.

Ceres was cheated under his Bowre, Pelop's Shoulder to devour. The rest in horror fled, But restor'd him from the Dead, An Ivory Shoulder they decreed, For ever to that Noble breed.

Palamedes while Troy besieg'd was, Invented Chess, Latrunculorum Tabula••. Apollo, that brave Titan, Of Gods the most a Gentleman. We never find him changing his Hue, To haunt after a Whorish Crue, His Muses were Chast, give 'um their due. Mercury, Moly did procure, Witches that Herb can't endure.

Jupiter is painted without Ears, Regards not Mortals Cries nor Tears. The Phoenicians Gods of Old, Were laden with Purses of Gold. Daemons took their Lodging Hole, All together in the North Pole. The good and gentle Genii, In the milder South Pole lye. Omne malum ab Aquilone, What's worse than a Northern Nebulone?

Goths, Vandals, Huns, Lombards, Heruli, Turks, Tartars, Normans, all unruly. Vulturs, all Females, breed behind, Conceive by the North and South Wind. A Lion Fever-sick we are assur'd, Certainly by an Ape is cur'd.

The Rhincerote with one Horn, Is the true Ʋnicorn.

The Female Viper in Coition, Destroys the Male without Suspicion, Of Treason, 'tis but Misprision. Ericthonius found Coaches meet, To hide his Dragons Feet. Yellow Beards the Hebrews wore, Because the Golden Calf they did adore.

Diogenes Plato's Man did mock, Homo est Animal Bipes, a Cock! At the Antipodes what's a Clock? Plato's Soul was once in Euphorbus, Circa Minutias sapere, est Graecus Morbus. Frustrà sapit, qui sibi non sapit, Frustrà rapit, qui sibi non rapit, He was safe from the Guns, that lay hid in a Saw-Pit.

Sententiaries, Casuists, Fall foul together with Clubs and Fists. Summists, Dictionarists, Index-Rakers, Muggletonians and Quakers. Ordinary Interlineary Glossators, Postillers, Conciliators, Are not Wisdoms Administrators.

Spanish Empire, from East to West, Larger than Romans, and all the rest, You may choose Blindfold, bad's the Best. Artemisia made a Tomb of Stones, But drank up her Husbands Bones.

Paracelsus pretended high, Towards Immortality: Made Homuncio's, rais'd from Dead, Among Coachmen and Hostlers bred, Himself at Thirty buried.

Procopius Arcana Historia, Invented and kept Lyes in Memoriâ. Branded justly ever after, For a base Traytor to his Master.

Alexander made his way, Dragooning over India. Tom Coriot footed it two thousand Miles, Besides Way-bits and Kentish Styles. The King of France with twenty thousand Men, Went up a Hill, and so came down agen. Cartez made Animals, Machins and Gins, Moving by Screws, Elaters and Springs.

Old Wizard Druis stampt the first Print, In the Samian, Sophist's Mint. Souls Transmigration from Men to Men, And so to Beasts and back agen. Actaeon's Dogs without Controll, Might eat up his Body, and drink up his Soul.

From Bardus, Druis Boy came Sects, That Sang Diurnals and Gazets. Agathyrsi in Aristotle's time, Sang Laws in the Streets, when they were in their Prime. So others did, as is pretended, 'Fore ever Letters were invented.

Their Musick Rules then 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 sounded, That now for Laws are expounded, So Words and things are oft confounded. The bare presence of a Bard, A Navy sayling could retard. One Brackman had power to command, Whole Armies to march or stand, So wise Men by Superstition are Trepan'd.

Let him that has a mind to Travel, In Wales, see if he can find a Navel. The Natives from the Center running all, Themselves Borderers call. If this be true, then to this day, It must be Terra Incognita.

Latin was Goth'd and Vandal'd, Hunn'd, Herulide, And every Language debauch'd beside; Only the Welsh has no Affinity, With Strangers, but keeps her Virginity. The Gentry by the Hills secure, Possess their ancient Blood pure. What think ye, may they not be Welsh Rat••, Whose young, as soon as born, are big with Brats? Need provide store of Cambrian Cats.

The Fool did his Downfall create, By sawing the Bough on which he sate. The famous Hero's, that dy'd in Wars, Mounted up to the Fixed Stars. So the great Saviours of Nations, Shine in Celestial Constellations.

Trust to no man, Fool or Wise, Most things are in a Disguise. What think y' of th' Inventors of counterfeit Cases, T'impose on the World with brazen Faces? But if you would be truly Wise, You must your own Judgment Exercise.

Roman's scorn'd Kings should go before 'um, But the Gods reserv'd to themselves Regem Sacro∣rum. Tho no Kings allow'd for the Forum, Yet they kept Fecial Reges Armorum. Hyena's change, like Sister and Brother, Males one year, Females another. They must needs rise very soon, To see Elephants worship the Moon.

Hippocentaurs try'd their Forces, The first that backt and pac'd Horses. The Bull of Marathon did roar, When baited by the Caledonian Boar. If Fanaticks were set to work, They would quickly bring in the Turk.

Ransack all the Druggists Stalls, There are more Poysons than Cordials. Rifle the World from Head to Tail, What Species yet did ever fail? Natura nunquam fecit Saltum, Nil asperius Humili, cum surgit in Altum. Millions of years, if you stay, The Mountains will be all washt away. Ordinary depths of Sea and Sand, Answer ord'nary heights of Land.

As high as are the lofty Mountains, So low are the vast Ocean's Fountains.

Campania, a Paradise for Store, The same with Terra di Lavadore. How is it with some Criminals, Where all Parties are Principals? All have there due, Nego Majorem, For Major suspendit Minorem.

Set a Fool in a Glass to spy The left Testicle of a Fly. Muscipula voids Issue from her Chaps, Into Water, and then up them laps. The sleeping Dolphin never winks, But from Top to Bottom sinks. But pray what should the Lion ail, When sleeping, he wags his Tail. Mahomet's Horns, would you did know, Were made of Half Fire, half Snow.

A cloudy Pearl'in a Dove's Paunch, Comes forth the Siege, with an Orient glance. A Spanish Cock-Chick, I can tell, That was heard to crow in the Shell. To deprive men of the benefit, The Root is cropt, call'd Devil's Bit: Therefore give him a Dose of Aloes and Gall, In his Cup squeez Toads, Guts and all. Young Neanthus was torn by Hounds, For playing on Orpheus Harp Jarring sounds. Elian's Frogs-Head of Flesh and Blood, Drew after it a Body of Mud: Hel tell you, he saw it, 'twas no Lye, From Naples to Puteoli.

Historians a Lye can't choak, The Druids Religion came from Abram's Oak, Was not Aristotle an Ass, For breaking his sleep with a Bowl of Brass. Homer dy'd like an Owl, in a Fret, For not unfolding the Fisher-mens Net.

A Beaver in Hunters sight, for the Nonce, To hinder their gain, Bites off his Stones. Four Ages, of Gold, Silver, Lead and Brass, Was th'Invention of some doating Ass. The Hop takes the Suns course best, By winding on Poles, from East to West. 'Twas no less than the Oil of Gold, That fed th'Everlasting Lamp of old, For Lyes we're all bought and sold.

Tygers the Africans did annoy, Which not being able to destroy; By solemn Act they all Decree, No Tygers should in Nature be. Tom Nash, his Pasquil and Marforius, The Counter Scufflle more Censorious: These answer'd Martin-Mar-Prelate better, Than Whitgift's Admonition Letter.

Aurelia Allobrogum, the more's the Pity, Contends with Rome to be the Mother City. Compare which of them hath done least good, Observe which of them hath shed most Blood. Paris Mattins, Sicilian Evensong, The Powder-Plot, the Parliament Long. This Presbyterian Association, The Dissenters Assassination.

Nero, Sirnamed Tiberius, Got the Nick-name of Biberius: Licinius Muraena, so I clept, 'Cause for a Lampry's death he wept. The Luxurious Roman Squire, Will see his Fish expire, And drest immediately at the Fire.

Of Prodigies Rome's Stories tell us, Croco sparsa Domus of Metellus. Accipenser serv'd up at a strange rate, With Garlands and loud Musick in state. A Horse, a Consul and Priest was made, A Man, a Woman, the Roman Trade. Romans were famous to the Skyes, Greeks were renowned for Lyes.

Too near a Wolf take heed how you come, If you see him first, he'l strike you dumb. From hence conclude Lupus in Fabulâ, Or write it down for a Lye in Tabulâ. Moles have no Eyes, Elephants no Joynts, They sleep leaning on Trees, false Points. Pelican for her Young makes holes in her Breast, 'Tis as true as all the rest: For she has a broad Flat Bill, And could not do't though she had a Will.

Our Bodies are weak, Ergo, for Fornication, The Gloss says, there's no Deprivation. We're all now of less Age and Stature, Ergo, there is a decay in Nature. Sun draws near th' Earth an Hundred and Thirty Degrees, In time the Tropicks are like to Freeze.

Mountains decay, Stars fail, Some already downwards hang their Tail.

Cassiopeia's new Star is long since retir'd, Comets above the Moon much admir'd. Venus has chang'd her Colour, Bigness and Shape, Sol drinks all Vapours, Stars for Thirst gape. But what if the Dragon or great Bear, To our Horizon should draw near, 'Twould put us all to a Bodily Fear? Besides Retrogradation, Trepidation, and Libra∣tion, Fright Mortals with a General Transmutation. Sayling more speedy from East to West, Confirms the Truth of all the rest.

Harpaste, Seneca's Wives Fool, At Noon, stumbled at a Joyn'd Stool. Blind, as she was, her Reason mark, She complain'd the Room was dark. Precise Plato held a Community, 'Twixt Men and Women with Impunity. Lycurgus made all his Laws for War, If for Peace't had been better far. Solon cancell'd old Debts, the more, Under pretence of doing good to the Poor. Aristotle, for poor mens helps, Bids drown their Children, like Whelps.

Coelum vetus est Paganum, Da novum nobis Christianum. Ordeal Law, by Fire and Water, The like by Duels or Manslaughter, Of Truth found out no such matter.

Lypsius de Potoribus & E••oribus, Should add, De Orbis Raptoribus, Consult Joannes de Temporibus, Cave, Annibal est prae Foribus.

Where Beauty and Wisdom are fixt, They are good single, but better mixt. Fair Vertue shines with greater Grace, When adorn'd with Beauties Face. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Homer's Iliads in a Nut-shell lye, The Rhodian Ship was hid by a Fly.

Vitellius had two Thousand Fishes, And ten Thousand Birds serv'd up in Dishes, To Gluttons with Cranes-Throats, if they had their Wishes. Six hundred Ostriches for Heliogabalus, An Ox for Hercules, if not Fabulous. Smydrides rested from all Fears, Saw no Sun-rising for Twenty years.

There is, I think, no great Wit, But of some mixture does admit, Of Madness, now and then a fit. Penelopes Geese eat the Wheat in her Hall, She dream't the Eagle kill'd them all The Thief is born under Mercury's Planet, Under Venus, the Letcher can't withstand it, Murderer under Mars, if you understand it. Mahomet's Doctrine of the Bow-string, Sad Notes upon the Hangmans Low-string.

Mark Antony and Cleopatra his Mate, Strove t'outvye in Charge and State. Antony's Supper, of vast Expence, Th' Egyptian Queen did Recompence. She call'd her Slave to fetch a Cruse Of Vinegar, as for common use. Took a Pearl pendant from one Ears tip, Dissolv'd, and turn'd it o're her Lip. O 'twas a costly Vain-glorious swallow, From t'other Ear a second was to follow: But that the Judge stay'd her, Saying, Madam, y'have won the Wager.

The Jewel sav'd, they did divide, To adorn Venus in her highest Pride. Jewels of such invaluable Worth, Th'Orient ne're before or since brought forth. Clodius, Aesop the Tragaedian did such a Feat, But 'fore they died wanted Meat. Attalus to Seneca commended a Bed, Where was no Print from Foot to Head. Made him, rather than please his Gusts, To feed on Herbs and hard Crusts.

The Pompeians, the Night before Pharsalia's Fight, did Sing and Roar. Casting Dice with unlucky Hands, For Romes Honours, Houses, Lands. The next Day, they all fell or fled, Divide no Lions Skin 'till he be dead.

Wherefore was Famous Machiavel, Condemn'd by Churchmen to the Pit of Hell? 'Twas, because of the Pope he ne're spake well, Therefore Curse him by Book, Candle and Bell.

Drink up the Morning-Star, and if you ben't a Clown, Be bold to drink th'Evening-Star down.

Martin the Cryer, calls Witches away, The Owls screetch, the Dogs bay, Toads croak, and Catamountains play. Snatch Flesh, Foam the Night-Ravens Maws, Wolves Hair from off Mad-Dogs Jaws, Seize the Ass out of the Lions Paws. Hiena's, Basilisks, Mandrakes, Vipers, Adders, Serpents, Snakes.

Take Horned Poppy, Cypress Brooms, Wild Fig-Tree, that grows on Tombs. Cast up dead Ashes and Sand, The Moon and Stars you may Command. Darkness, Devils, Heav'n and Hell, Must be subject to your Spell.

I call you Once, I call you Twice, Headlong ye come if I call you Thrice. Make your Cross Dances Hip to Hip, Back to Back, Heel to Heel, Trip. Charm all the sorts of deadly Drugs, Carry the Devils by the Lugs, Sting 'um with Insects and Bugs. In Cradles suck Childrens Breath, And gripe the old Nurses to Death.

Full fourteen years the Maid of Mewrs, Fasted, liv'd by the smell of Flowrs. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Sun bene olet, Quod oculus non ridet, Cor non dolet, The Parasite is Fee'd, Offa monet.

'Twas Tully's unsavoury proud Encomium, O Fortunatam, natam, me Consule Romam.

Dioclesian, Brother to Sun and Moon, His Name's up, may lye a Bed till Noon, Give the Baby Pap in a Spoon. All Clients that come or go, Have the Honour to kiss his Toe. Ev'n grave Augustus had his Frisk, Acted Apollo, very Brisk. Clad his Guests in Antick Dresses, In state, like Gods and Goddesses. Dominus Deus noster Jubet, Domitianus, quicquid Lubet. Numen Vestrum, Perennitas Vestra, Saluted so in the Orchestrâ.

Augustus's Statue, Cheek by Joll, Jussel'd Jupiter in the Capitol. Of Scaurus's Theatre, Fame Thunders As of one of the World's Wonders. Caligula's Bridge, three Miles long, From Putzol to Biuly, very strong. Tables of Murine, Onyx Stone, Cups of Crystal, Pearls, all one. Such was the Luxury of old, Even to Stool-Pans of Gold.

Bibitur in Conchâ, says Strabo, Vitreo bibit Ille Priapo. Coelatures, Bosses, Emblems of Apri, Stantes extrà Pocula Capri. African, Citron Trees for Tables, Sustentatque tuos, Aurea Mensa Dapes.

Patinarum Paludes, They had their Wishes, To swim up to the Ears in Dishes.

Gallus Cestius to Supper Invited, By Tiberius, was Delighted. With Rarities overbaited, By naked Maids that on them waited. Ganymeds, Exolete Carpet Knights, Bearded, overgrown Catamits. To Ravish all in Dignitatibus, An Office erected A Voluptatibus.

Apricius, so Rich and Proud, For's Kitchin Nine Millions allow'd. At last, after all his Carving, Poys'ned himself for fear of Starving. Ingeniosa Gula, Ransacks Air, And Earth and Sea, for Bills of Fare. New farrowed Sows Paps, Italian Mushrooms, Fools Caps. To cool their Wine Egyptian Snow, Samian Cakes Baked slow.

Cocks-Treddles, Guilt-heads, Livers. Fool, Florentine that Quivers. A whole Goat slic'd, and stew'd in shivers, Fesula's, Peacocks Brains, blended, Phoenicopter's Tongues, the World's well amend∣ed. At this rate it may soon be Ended, The Worms will be well Befriended.

Six Thousand Lampreys Caesar bought, For Triumphs better Fed than Taught.

Oysters the biggest, of the Lake Lucrine, The best Rellish were Rutupine. The true Shoar they can Primo Deprendere Morsu, Green Finn'd, and as big as a Horse-shoe.

Lucullus had a deep swallow, Call'd Tully and Pompey to sup in Apollo. Minerva's Bucklet, call'd Vitellius's Platter, For Belly, not Brains, full of rich Matter. Whole Patrimonies vast and stable, Wholly consum'd at one Table.

Hyppocrates had a tedious Walk, From Pole to Pole in a day to stalk. They that nourish Jealousies and Fears, Their Office is to carry Guts to the Bears. Sparrows tread Eight times in an hour, Pigeons draw Venus Chariot Bowre. Phydias's Scambre, Grass-hopper, Bee of Brass, Rarities, with Archimede's Sphere of Glass.

A single Raisin-Stone, Was the death of poor Anacreon. Empedocles in Aetna's Smoak, Like a-Fool, himself did choak. Euripides dy'd in Disgrace, Eat up by the Curs of Thrace. The Eagle gave Aeschylus a Spell, Dropt on his bald Pate a Tortoise Shell. Arcadian Nonasius Waters, Could be contain'd in no other quarters; But only in an Asses Hoof, The coldest Creature that is, by proof.

At the famous Battel of Tours, Thousand Saracens fell in few hours. Ebroven Major Domo in Clothair's Raign, Got first the Power Soveraign. Charles Martell, next of the same place, Won the Crown from Chilperic's Race. Hugh Capet descended from the Book, By the Sword the Scepter took, For the true Right you may go look. Gauls were the ancient Colonels, Druids brought Learning from their Cells, I wonder who the Devil invented Spells.

If our Senses first deceive us, Of all true Science they bereave us, No certainty can be of Skill, Nor no true Liberty of Will. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Experience In a Quack, is a great Offence, From whence all Mistakes commence. Diverse Occurrences have diverse Respects, And some come to miss by their Neglects, 'Tis hard to know which makes the true Effects.

Apollo pray'd to Cea••e, A lasting Plague that was in Greece. His Answer was very hollow, To double the Altar of Apollo. Fools are always plump and fair, The Reason is, they take no Care▪ 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, we find, True, because Cupid is Blind, Plutus is just so in his kind.

Fools go before, and Wise behind, Gold more than Wisdom most men mind.

At the unlacing of a Buck, Ceremonies us'd for sake of Luck. A Gentleman, no Butcher, on his Knees, His Hat off, lays the Beast on the Lees. A Cutter for the purpose, that parts The Entrals by Mysterious Arts. All in deep silence, as a Sacrificer, Divides, and Inspects, and is never the wiser.

The Greek in empty Theatre sits Laughing, The German in full Flagons quaffing. Fools, Ideots, unconcern'd in all things. Wise men take a care in small things. Chymists bewitch'd spend all in Profundis, Quia mutant Quadrata Rotundis.

Charles Martel, a Gospel Propagator, The first Tithe Impropriator. Cain began the first Duel, Goths and Vandals alike Cruel. A Wise man only is secure, Tho the most harm he endure. The most unworthy to see Day, Feel the Sun's brightest Ray.

He that looks round about all things well, Is likest the most Truths to tell. In Words to sport, in Sentences to sleep, Is, with sober Learning, to play Bo-peep. Many Curious Arts, Tonanti Sono, But the true Wise man cryes, Cui Bono?

Great Volumes run a great way, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. A great Cry, and a little Wool, Danaid's Tubs are never full, A Spider's Web curiously wrought, Proves at last good for nought.

There are more Things than Words, I dare say, And Words are doubtful every way. Therefore a Wise man minds the Scope, Lets himself down Precipes by a Rope▪ And still distinguishes with Care▪ That in all things he may come off fair. Hair-brain'd Fools mind Sport and Drinking, But ne're regard Study or Thinking. Therefore they never understand, Because they ne're had their Wits at command.

Let Truth be what it will, Pleasure and Gains, Are the only Objects of their Pains. Flashes of Fancy they most mind, Therefore their Reasons are never true nor kind. And if they can of Oratory blow the Bellows, Among Sots, they count Selves, and are counted brave Fellows.

Thus I, a poor Witch, can Faults sit and spye, And if I complain, they tell me, I lye. Alas! I am a poor ignorant Female Soul, And how dare I Learned Men controul? Tho I have got little, but Meat, Drink and Cloth∣ing, I have not been so long in the World for No∣thing.

Women that have their Tongues at Command, May order their Brains, if they will understand. Women may learn, as well as Men, To Read, and Meditate, and handle their Pen.

But these Fops and Sots, whom I so justly Re∣buke, Ne're gave their minds to handle a Book. Drink, Roar and Whore, or plod upon Dirt, Or in Pride and Bravery flirt. Not minding Souls or Body's Health, Uncapable to serve the Common wealth. Devouring the Fruits of the Ground, Doing of good can ne're be found. I like not these unlucky Generations, That follow nought, but the World's Fashions. The sooner these Varlets go off the Stage, The sooner we hope for a Civiler Age.

These things have mov'd me to so much Rage, To see so few to Vertue engage. And now I shall be call'd a Wolf or a Bear, They'l force me to shed many a Tear: But they shall know I keep this Resolution, To hold Truth, and stand Persecution. Mine is the Fate of Priests and Kings, To do Good, and suffer Evil things. Base Rascals, Rail, and hurt what you can, I'le still take the part of an Honest man. You make my Heart ake, you make me Sweat, I scorn you, I scorn you, be you never so Great.

I am an Old Witch, is all your Note, You'l make me go in a Thred-bare Coat.

The Law is against Witches, I confess, But they may tax your Baseness nevertheless. It may be left upon Record, You ne're deserv'd a Witches good Word. Still you bawl, I'm a Witch an be hang'd, Still I cry, you are Rogues an be Damn'd. But I'le give you the slip, and Repent for the Nones, And leave you to the Devil to pick all your Bones.

Money, my Hearts, if you have any, Broken or Whole, for a Parting Peny.

FINIS.